


In Three Words

by 6am



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Public Display of Affection, kind of? its homare, vague long winded ways of declaring love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:20:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22407859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/6am/pseuds/6am
Summary: “I do hope… I do hope that you were able to… to understand. What I meant.”He finally looks at Azuma, up through his lashes and the barely organized mess of his hair. It’s a bit risky, but Azuma grins and pulls Homare’s hand up close to sneak a kiss to the inside of his wrist.“Every word.”
Relationships: Yukishiro Azuma/Arisugawa Homare
Comments: 7
Kudos: 89





	In Three Words

**Author's Note:**

> sorry to my enstars fics maybe some day i'll write more than twice a year
> 
> first A3 work but please think about azumare theyre so cute theyre constantly saying how cute they think the other is just. please
> 
> a request on a writing meme for my dearest rix who wanted azumare PDA that turned into this

The atmosphere of the club is definitely... Homare’s pace — if it could even be called a club. It’s more of what looks like someone’s renovated swanky basement, with waterfall fairy lights glimmering against wine red walls and gauzy drapery that almost gives the illusion of windows in the small room. 

It’s not that Azuma hates it, the cozy vibe and lack of smoke and drunken noise clouding the air is comfortable if not just a little bit stuffy. He’s been to a handful of open mic nights in places much worse, the novelty of no chairs and only sparsely placed floor cushions and beanbags that are well worn and the couple vaping a few feet away is absolutely forgivable. 

Azuma cradles his mug of tea close to his chest and twirls the end of his ponytail lazily around his fingers, slowly sweeping his gaze around the room. There’s a low excited buzz, conversations about anything and everything all meld together but the amount of times Azuma hears  _ “Arisugawa-san” _ has him smiling against the rim of the mug. 

The “club” had been a suggestion from one of Azuma’s clients turned friends, a slightly more eccentric but kind lady who always smells of peaches and still gets embarrassed about the time she had fallen asleep in Azuma’s lap. Her knowing of his and Homare’s relationship was mostly an accident — a slip of the tongue during a run in at the grocery store turned information dump about how her new boyfriend and how should she approach  _ this _ and  _ that _ and. Well. There’s something about getting to say  _ “my boyfriend _ ” that gets Azuma’s heart fluttering. 

Which then became shocked silence, then near tearful congratulations and a bit of a scene over by the produce. Azuma had kept it vague enough, but after mentioning he’s dating a poet she had asked  _ who who who _ then  _ ah, I’m not sure who that is, but I know this place that has an open mic soon if he’s not shy... _

_ Not in that sense, he’s really quite cute actually.  _

She had only given a confused smile, a funny little tilt of her head before leaving him be and for her to finish inspecting a head of cabbage. 

Homare had of course jumped at the chance, very literally hopping up from his seat despite Hisoka leaning heavily against his side. Hisoka didn’t even open an eye as Homare had gushed about his excitement, clasping Azuma’s hands in his before pulling them close to his own chest. 

And the days leading up to the event were the same whirlwind of excitement, with Homare compiling and revising and collecting for his showcase. The weather is still cold, but it’s just now the beginning of spring, leaving him with newfound free time to work himself into a tizzy and cause just above the usual amount of ruckus the Mankai dorms raise daily. 

But now Homare is in whatever constitutes as backstage, probably behind the thicker curtains around the designated stage area only marked by a standing microphone and a rug that the last participant had runkled the corner of and no one has thought to fix. The encroaching closing act has everyone on edge, the slightly too crowded space only falls to silence at the soft click of heeled dress shoes on the floor and the  _ whush _ of the curtains when Homare flicks them away with a flourish. Azuma would laugh if the room wasn’t dead silent. 

Homare takes his stance at the microphone, arms primly behind his back and a cat that got the cream smirk on his face. He looks over the room, and the mic catches his pleased half chuckle. 

“I am truly, deeply pleased to see such a turnout this evening. A meeting of the minds is only merry with more.”

The girl closest to Azuma sighs dreamily, and he hears a few heartfelt snaps behind him. Shouldn’t their fingers be tired already? Azuma still can’t get over the exposure to honest  _ poetry snaps. _ Homare only smiles wider at the sound and rapt attention he’s already gathered. 

There isn’t much fanfare beyond that, and Homare dives into his practiced performance without hesitation. Some of them are new, most of them short and snappy Homare brand almost nonsense that are met with a chorus of snaps and emphatic throat sounds. Azuma spies a few of the folk crowding the walls wiping at their eyes. 

And, well, Azuma still doesn’t  _ entirely  _ get it, but seeing Homare so at ease and comfortable is pulling at his heartstrings in a different way. He’s as animated as ever, with sweeping gestures and fingers dancing like he has to chase an imaginary piano to play his song and an air of ease that puts his stage presence for the company to shame. His voice booms through the room then floats through on a dramatic whisper, warbling like a songbird when he near cradles the microphone and then he… well he kind of moans while reciting— which would be weird if it was anyone else but Homare talking about the  _ wind in his hair releasing the snare on his heart for art for art for  _ art,  _ words in his mouth like an apple tart.  _

There’s a pause for snapping and nodding and starry-eyed reverence, Homare straightens himself up and folds his arms behind his back once more. “And now, if you all would indulge with me in something a bit… different. As you all should know I am always one to keep my poetry perfectly memorized before showcasing.”

Another round of snaps. Azuma adjusts himself in his very wilted beanbag, curious. Homare is still poised as usual, but the shifting of his eyes and the perfect line of his tense shoulders is tell enough. Azuma’s seen Homare’s relaxed smile, it’s an easy thing that leaves the cutest little wrinkles around his eyes. This one he’s giving now— a hint of teeth and a crook to the right— Homare’s nervous. 

Azuma tries his hardest to catch his gaze without having to wave or call out to him, leaning forward in his seat and putting on his most gentle smile. Homare catches him for just a second, and the nervous half grin falters to soft surprise before it becomes even more stiff. 

But Homare reigns himself in, clearing his throat. “However! The sea of inspiration began boiling inside me just moments before, and if I may…” Someone appears from behind one of the curtains and hands him a leatherbound notebook, looking awestruck when Homare murmurs his thanks away from the mic. “Even the greats can’t be expected to memorize a piece on such short notice, but there is some novelty in this kind of performance I suppose.”

The pages turning are caught by the microphone, soft fluttering in the quiet space. Azuma finds himself oddly tense as Homare searches through his book, trying to figure out what could have his boyfriend so off kilter when he should be near dancing around the makeshift stage. He holds his breath as Homare breathes in deeply, holding his notebook in one hand while the other rests over his heart. 

And it’s… well, it’s one of Homare’s poems. With jumping inflection and rhymes that almost mean nothing but still get a reaction. It’s obviously something Azuma’s never heard before, but the cadence and Homare’s breathy delivery strike him with enough surprise to drop his jaw just a bit. 

It’s a love poem, not that that’s anything new, but what’s striking is how often Homare is looking at  _ him _ , the half second hesitation that grows more bold and curves with his smile as it goes on. When he joyfully singsongs of his  _ skin she sings she  _ sings  _ to my heart he beats, drum hum rum a drink so sweet— this touch pour down to my feet _

It makes as much sense as it usually does, but Azuma  _ gets it _ . Gets the hesitation, the flittering looks and he has to swallow down some heavy feeling that brings air into his chest on the way down. It’s a love poem about  _ him _ , from Homare to Azuma, with all of the ridiculous words and an all over the place tone that makes his heart thump. Homare finishes his reading without much flourish, only his fingers dancing against the stand of the mic and a wobble in his voice that isn’t on purpose. 

The room erupts a few seconds after Homare’s last verse, and Azuma nearly topples his drink with how quickly he puts it down to join in the applause. Homare bows over and over again with a grin, the one he has when he’s relieved that’s all teeth and has his cheeks high. He claps the notebook closed and quickly makes his way through the crowd that grows just as fast around him, only just waiting for the sea to part as he bounds over to Azuma. 

“You were wonderful,” Azuma beams, gratefully taking Homare’s offered hand to help him up from his seat. Homare looks a bit bashful, keeping his eyes at Azuma’s hand in his instead of his face. 

“As always, I can’t help the nostalgic feeling of a performance in this kind of place. Ah, youth is a wonderful thing…” He moves his thumb over Azuma’s knuckles, and Azuma waits patiently for him to find his words. It’s cute, seeing Homare of all people having to fight the sounds that catch in his throat and end up turning into half chuckles and shy smiles. “I do hope… I do hope that you were able to… to understand. What I meant.”

He finally looks at Azuma, up through his lashes and the barely organized mess of his hair. It’s a bit risky, but Azuma grins and pulls Homare’s hand up close to sneak a kiss to the inside of his wrist. 

“Every word.” And that’s only kind of a lie because Azuma wasn’t entirely sure about  _ running hair  _ and the  _ joyful blankets _ but Homare’s eyes widen and he’s just  _ so _ cute, giddy like a child with his laughter and flushed cheeks. “But I would like to hear the short version, maybe in about… hm,” he moves just a step closer and playfully twirls the longer part of Homare’s hair with his free hand, “Maybe in three words? I think you’re more than capable of such a short story.”

Homare laughs loud, joyful and boisterous and so  _ Homare _ that it hurts. He’s interrupted on the inhale though, by a hurried “ _ Yes!” _ that startles the couple enough that they both jump. 

The room booms into another round of applause at the man on one knee not too far away, his apparently now fiancée near kneeling herself with her hands over her mouth. Homare gasps and squeezes Azuma’s hand before dropping it to raise his arms with a delighted sound, nearly dropping his notebook in the process. 

“Love! Oh, young and beautiful and spontaneous love!  _ Quelle beauté! _ ” He twirls on his heel, and the newly engaged couple both compose themselves only enough to stand and cling to each other as Homare approaches. “My deepest and greatest congratulations, knowing that my work has seeded such an event! Ah, I need a pen, I can feel the words down to my fingerti- oh,” he balks at the sudden appearance of about twenty pens offered to him, then laughs. Azuma hides his smile behind his hand. 

“A-Arisugawa-san!” The woman speaks up, eyes wide and still shining with tears. “Please, i-it would be the greatest honor if you— if you!“

“Please! Our love would live on for a millennia if you would officiate our wedding!” Her fiancé finishes, and the couple nearly topple over as they fling themselves into a deep bow while still clinging to each other. 

Homare pauses for just a second, then turns to Azuma. “Have you any idea how I should go about becoming ordained?”

Azuma just laughs, shaking his head as he tries to figure out just how to word this next LIME message. “I’m sure we know someone.”

**Author's Note:**

> catch me on twit @its_6_am


End file.
